The Game
by Esperanza2
Summary: Draco proposes an experiment. Will Ron have the strength to win? (slash)
1. The Challenge

Warning: This DOES contain male on male slash… nothing too graphic, no worries. However, you have been forewarned.  
  
Legalities: I do not own anything residing in the following story  
  
***  
  
My arms, heedless of my mind's protests, wrapped around the pale boy's neck, pulling his body tighter against my own, tongues fiercely battling for possession of the other's. And just as suddenly as it had began, the insistent mouth was torn from my own. I could feel the glazed shock permeate my face and with a vacuous blink, looked to my attacker. Draco Malfoy's grey eyes blazed with a predatory glint, wolfish smirk adorning his now-flushed lips.  
  
"What was that?" I stupidly queried.  
  
"A challenge," came the drawling reply as he crossed his arms across his chest, assuming an arrogant expression.  
  
"A…What?"  
  
"A challenge," he repeated, examining his immaculate fingernails and perching a hip against the thick, wooden table.  
  
"I thought you wanted to fight, not snog," came my indignant response as the hazy film slowly peeled from my brain, leaving confusion in its wake.  
  
"Well, there's time enough for both."  
  
"What… what do you mean?"  
  
"I mean I challenge you to a little game. An experiment, if you will. I will attempt to seduce you."  
  
"Seduce-" I began, but a sharp, iron glare made me swallow my befuddled comments.  
  
"I've seen you pine after Potter often enough, I doubt you should be adverse to the idea."  
  
"Now wait a minute, that's—"  
  
"Besides the point. As I was saying, I will attempt to capture you completely under my thrall. No magic involved… unless you beg for it. If I win, I will completely possess you. Mind, body, and heart."  
  
"And if I win yours?" I demanded, straightening my shoulders in defense.  
  
He gave a short, joyless laugh.  
  
"You must know, Weasley, I have no heart."  
  
With another feral grin, he turned and glided past me. However, not before grazing my backside with a casual movement of his hand. Blushing at once, I spun with a piqued comment about to spew from my mouth, but he was already gone, completely enveloped in the cold, brisk night. He left me to stand among the candle's flickering light in the middle of Hagrid's abandoned hut, more confused and aroused than I had ever been in my life. 


	2. The Players

I entered the Great Hall mid-breakfast with Vincent and Gregory's massive presence on either side. With a casual scan of the Gryffindor table, I quickly found my red-headed quarry. Really that red hair is damn convenient in a crowd, I silently mused. As if sensing something, the object of my pursuit tensed, attention snapping away from Potter. Emerald eyes shrouded by locks of red secured onto mine; first confused, than accusing. A flash of guilt stroked down my spine as I thought of the pain I would soon see reflected in those verdant depths. Mentally shaking myself from my reverie, I deliberately swiped my tongue across my lips in a distinctively predatorial manner. Bright red swiftly stained his cheeks as he cast his eyes away in obvious discomfort. The combination of both was so charming, I felt a bemused smile begin to overtake my mouth. Rapidly I transformed it into a knowing smirk and strode to the Slytherin table.  
  
No sooner had I settled into my usual seat than a deep bass sounded:  
  
"May I sit?"  
  
Looking into the opaque eyes, I gave a regal nod and dismissed Vincent from my side with a slight flick of the wrist. Carlos Jaggers, seventh year Slytherin, settled into the recently occupied seat.  
  
"Well?" He questioned bluntly.  
  
"Well?" I countered with a nonchalant air, leisurely sipping at my drink.  
  
"Well did you do him or not?"  
  
With an irritated sigh I put my glass down and turned to give him my full attention.  
  
"I already cited the futility of a quick fuck to you. The only way to possess Weasly completely, to possess anyone, is to control his heart. Once that is obtained, it is only a matter of time before they would betray anything to have that love reciprocated. Besides," I continued while lifting my glass to my lips, eyes perusing the red head talking animatedly to Potter. "Such tasks must be done delicately"  
  
" 'Delicate' or not, you still have a deadline."  
  
Impatiently slamming the glass down, I turned sharp eyes to his.  
  
"Don't you think I understand that, fool? This isn't a simple matter of reciting a curse. It's more complex and infinitely more effective. A curse he might shake off under the circumstances, but love?" I gave a bitter laugh. "Love is painfully lasting."  
  
"Just remember what the objective is," he warned, rising to his feet. Leaning his bulky body over me, I could smell his acidic stench as he put his lips to my ear and breathed a last reminder: "Break his heart."  
  
With that, he was gone from my side. Looking once more to Weasley, I raised my glass to him before muttering darkly.  
  
"Oh, I intend to."  
  
Then, after tossing back the remainder of the liquid, I slammed the glass down, collected my books and headed to my first class of the day with Vincent and Gregory hastily lumbering after.  
  
***  
  
"Are you sure your okay?" Harry whispered over McGonagall's lesson for what had to be the sixth time in ten minutes.  
  
"I'm fine!" I hissed back with an impatient roll of my eyes.  
  
"You just acted really odd this morning at breakfast, blushing like that. I can tell you're not telling me something."  
  
A light started to dawn in his eyes.  
  
"This doesn't have to do with that owl you were sent yesterday? The one telling you to go to Hagrid's hut, does it?"  
  
"No!" I protested, slightly louder than I intended, receiving an admonishing glare from Hermione who was furiously transcribing every word McGonagall was preaching.  
  
"No." I repeated, in a softer tone, this time.  
  
"Do you have a girlfriend your not telling me about?"  
  
"No!" I protested as vehemently as I could without raising my voice too loudly, casting a quick look to Hermione.  
  
"… 'Cause if you do have a girlfriend, I should be the first person you tell, I mean—"  
  
"I DO NOT HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!" I ground out with an exasperated yell.  
  
There was a large, complete silence after my outburst as everyone swiveled their heads to look in my direction. Then, explosive giggles sounded off as my face heated into a spectacular blush.  
  
"Although that declaration was most life-altering, Mr.Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor for talking during class."  
  
"Sorry, Professor McGonagall" I muttered, ducking my head from her penetrating glare.  
  
Harry was still looking as if he wanted to continue his interrogation, but the threat of getting us into further trouble held his tongue in check. His tongue… the thought brought memories of the previous night sweeping to mind.  
  
"I've seen you pine after Potter often enough, I doubt you should be adverse to the idea."  
  
'Pine after Potter,' indeed. We're just friends. Just friends. …And if sometimes, in the middle of the night, I slip out of bed to make sure he's not having those nightmares, again, it's just because I'm concerned. A concerned friend. And so what if sometimes I have dreams of holding him after last year's notorious TriWizard Tournament, when he looked so broken. It's because as a friend I want to comfort him. And if… No, no, he can't be right. Draco Malfoy cannot be right. It's all a fallacy! Casting a slightly panicked look to Harry, my eyes caught him just as he began to chew at his quill thoughtfully. The sight brought my full concentration to his lips. His lips… as I slowly transformed last night's kiss with Malfoy into one with his lips. Well, when one thought about the kiss like that it really wasn't all that bad. If it was Harry, not Malfoy doing the kissing…  
  
"OH, BLOODY HELL!" I shouted in a rankled epiphany.  
  
"MR. WEASLEY!" admonished McGonagall in an exasperated yell. "Another ten points for that most inappropriate outburst and an hour of detention! See me in my office directly after dinner."  
  
Mortified, I covered my now-scarlet face in my hands. The only thing keeping me from shriveling in humiliation was the knowledge that I had absolutely no classes today with Draco Malfoy. 


	3. The First Move

The day wore on in a blur of faces and lectures. To the casual observer I must have appeared zombie-like; so dead to the world I barely responded to outside stimuli. Inside my mind, however, a full scale attack of memories and thoughts bombarded my sanity.  
  
Recalling each second spent with Harry, from this morning's breakfast to the first moment I lay eyes on him on Platform 9 ¾, I examined every smile and casual touch for sexual tension. Could it be possible I've been attracted to him subconsciously somehow? Could the brotherly affection actually have it's roots grounded in some primal sort of lust? After all, that's how it began between Oliver and Percy, and look at them now: so daft for one another they even hold hands while eating family dinners. Fred and George are no better; casting those secret, sideways glances when we're at home, away from the judgmental eyes of the rest of the world. Really, it seems like such an obvious pair. Me and Harry. It's a wonder it never occurred to me before. But it certainly seems to have occurred to Malfoy, that bloody git. Imagine his nerve! Kissing me senseless like that, than instigating that Harry and I felt, well, that for one another. And what was that rambling about some sort of  
challenge? Almost like some sort of a game, really. Queer that he chose me for his little experiment, no pun intended. I mean, really, I'm nothing special. Certainly my brothers all have outstanding reputations (in the case of the twins, reputations of outstanding mischief), but, besides Harry's friendship, I really have nothing to boast about. Unless... no, he wouldn't be conniving enough to try to get to Harry through me, would he?  
  
Well, that certainly makes more sense than him actually in l...ust with me. What would he actually see in me, with my hideous freckles and abundant hair such a flaming red? I'm not naive to think there's anything remotely attractive about my looks. He, on the other hand, is nothing short of stunning. Although his face was once so angular it looked like it might cut, he grew into the high cheekbones and pale flesh. Now its only those frigid grey eyes that slice. Until last night I never really noticed that body of his, but if what I felt against my own was any indication, he's just as striking under his robes as above. Good God, I marveled with a brilliant blush, when did I start thinking about what's under Malfoy's robes? That's just...  
  
"Ron? Ron, are you okay?" A worried voice derailed my train of thought.  
  
"Harry? Er, yeah, I'm fine, I mean," I loudly cleared my throat. "Perfectly fine. Why?"  
  
"Well, you just--"  
  
"--turned a rather spectacular shade of scarlet, Ron." Broke in Seamus' jovial voice, obviously trying to further embarrass me and succeeding tremendously.  
  
"Ron, are you sure your okay?" Quizzed Hermione with a concerned frown. "You've barely touched your dinner."  
  
"Yeah, and the chocolate pudding's really good." Added Harry while demonstrating by lapping the desert from his spoon with an unconscious sensuality. My eyes were guiltily drawn to the slow movements of his tongue. Hurriedly breaking my concentration away, I sputtered the first thing that came to mind.  
  
"Actually, I'm just really worried. You know, about my detention and all. I better be going, wouldn't want to make McGonagall any angrier than she already is. See you later, then."  
  
Leaping from my chair and rushing out of the Great Hall, I don't believe I've ever been so grateful for a detention in all my life. Now I had an hour to piece together my thoughts, work everything out before I had to see Harry again. Now, if only I could avoid Malfoy for, say, the rest of my life, everything would be perfect. Maybe a week, by then maybe he'll forget about this stupid `experiment' of his...  
  
"Bloody hell! What are you doing here!"  
  
***  
  
Slowly looking up from my lazy examination of the wooden floorboards, my eyes met familiar blazing ones.  
  
"I'm waiting for McGonagall to get back so we can have hot passionate sex, Weasley," I answered in an biting drawl. " Isn't that what you're here for as well?"  
  
"Don't be disgusting, Malfoy," he blanched. "What are you here for?"  
  
"Detention, same as you, I suppose. However, our esteemed professor seems to be late." I cast a casual glance from his eyes, to the door, than back.  
  
"Oh," he mumbled, as if disappointed, as he sat in a chair opposite the one I was in.  
  
There was a pause of, in his case awkward silence.  
  
He finally broke the silence after a few seconds with an anxious "Well?"  
  
"Well?" I countered with a sly look in his direction.  
  
"Well, what did you do?" I raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "To get a detention, I mean." he hastily added.  
  
"It was more a case of what I didn't do," I deliberately replied.  
  
Obviously relaxing into the deceptively normal conversation, he stepped right into my trap with his next words.  
  
"Well, than, what didn't you do?"  
  
I rose from the seat and took a few gliding steps towards him as I quietly responded.  
  
"I wasn't paying the least bit of attention to the lesson today."  
  
"Why?" he questioned with a choked gasp.  
  
I slid down to my knees in front of him, each of his legs on either side of me.  
  
"I was thinking of other things," I whispered, one hand lightly tracing patterns on his knee. His eyes never wavered from my own.  
  
"Now ask what I was thinking of," I demanded softly.  
  
"What were you thinking of?" He obediently parroted.  
  
"You," I hissed and quickly captured his mouth with mine.  
  
At first his mouth was tight with shock, as it had been the first time, jaw firmly clenched. I slicked my tongue across his lower lip until I had coaxed my tongue to his. That first explosion when his taste mingled with my own was absolute bliss. My sense of purpose was quickly lost as his tongue gently stroked my own. Of its own violation, my body settled onto his lap, fingers lost in a sea of crimson hair. He groaned into my mouth and I was undone.  
  
Without warning, he cruelly pulled his mouth from mine and punched me so squarely in the gut, I ended up in a heap on the floor. Panting for the breath which fled on impact, I glared up at his considerable height.  
  
"You bastard." He virtually growled.  
  
"Contrary to popular belief," I smoothly responded between laboring breaths. "My mother and father were, indeed, married when I was conceived."  
  
"I know what that was about, I'm onto your little game. You think your so clever, but I know exactly what's going on."  
  
A thrill of fear swept my spine at his words. How the hell could he have figured it out? But he was continuing his tirade.  
  
"Your trying to get to Harry through me, aren't you? That's what this is all about, isn't it? Well, your not going to distract me with your... your... behavior."  
  
Before I could form any sort of coherent response, McGonagall swept into the room. Her eyes traveled from Ron's clenched fists to my crumpled form.  
  
Clearing her voice, she said with a brisk tone, "I apologize for my tardiness, but I'm most pleased to see you two did not kill each other without supervision. Well, come now, lets start your detentions." She looked from Ron to me. "Your separate detentions."  
  
The rest of the evening was quite anticlimactic without even Ron's presence serving to distract from the odious task Filch demanded of me. Later that night I slipped into the Slytherin common room, determined to go straight to bed, but a figure in front of the fireplace stopped my travel up short.  
  
Carlos Jaggers' angular face was eerily caught between the fire's flickering light and the shadow's dark depths.  
  
"Well?" He demanded.  
  
"I'm beginning to secure his attention. That much is certain."  
  
"Good. Than it should all be a matter of time before he falls in love with you. And as for the rest?"  
  
"I can guarantee this will all be over by winter's end." 


	4. The Prey

In the deep of night, memories blurred with sleep, creating a dream-like reality as though it were all happening anew. Once again, I was in that bare, white room where the only decorations were a meager cot and stains of my own blood adorning the walls and floor. Crouching in one sterile corner, my eyes never wavered from the door which he would enter from. The minutes seeped into hours as my apprehension grew, knowing the later it got, the sooner he would arrive. My muscles had long ceased their protests, already bitingly numb. Nevertheless, I dared not stir, feeling as though if I stayed completely still, it might prevent his appearance. The slow, deliberate footfalls descending the stairs made me start in surprise, casting a futile look around the room, as though I could wish an escape to appear. Briefly I entertained the notion of hiding beneath the scant cot, but quickly dismissed that notion. If anything, the beatings would be worse as soon as I were found. Now the  
footsteps were in front of the door. A whimper escaped my throat, raw from hours of screaming in pain and misery. The deadbolts slid out of place with a sound resonating impending doom. My father had arrived. 


	5. The Next Step

"Lee!" I gasped in surprise as I recognized the only other person in the Gryffindor common room as my brothers' best friend.  
  
"Hey, Ron!" he called from across the room, looking up from his magazine adorned with half naked women. "Why aren't you in Hogsmeade with everyone else?"  
  
"I really need to talk to Fred and George, have you seen them?"  
  
"Yeah, they're up in the dorm. They've been up there long enough they probably won't mind you interrupting, but you know how they can be when they're together," he added with a sly, sideways grin.  
  
Lee Jordan was the only person outside the immediate family that knew of Fred and George's relationship. I'm not quite certain of the particulars myself, but I know the twins have always shared a more-than- brotherly fondness for one another. Once they hit puberty with a vengeance, their affection began to turn sexual. Fred seemed to take the realization in stride, as though it were just another faucet of their love, but George completely panicked. Although at the time I had been a third year and more concerned about Sirius Black trying to kill me, even I could tell they had a bit of a falling out after Halloween. George started dating someone, hence hurting Fred in the process. The rest of the details are sketchy, but I know over the Christmas break they seemed to reconcile, once again treating each other with the casualness everyone is so used to witnessing. Not long after that, George kissed Fred and, due to the spontaneity of the moment, didn't take the proper precautions, resulting in Lee's accidental witness of the event. As a result, the twins became secretly exclusive to one another and now are discreet enough to save their devotion for when we were at the Burrow. They must really have been desperate to be up in their dorm right now, with Lee posted down here as lookout.  
  
Knocking loudly, I heard the sounds of clothes hastily rustled before George, clad only in jeans, opened the door.  
  
"Ron, my boy, to what do we owe the honor of your visitation?" He inquired with a mischievous grin.  
  
"Well, I wanted to, well, get your advice on a matter… that is if you and Fred aren't busy."  
  
"No worries, Ronnikins, we're all done," called Fred's voice from inside the room.  
  
"Come on in," George commanded with a wink, opening the door further so I could step in.  
  
***  
  
The Slytherin common room had cooled off dramatically since this afternoon, becoming quite frigid as the dusk turned to night. I would know, I mused, bitter as the chill, I've only been waiting here that long. From the vintage point in my usual forest green armchair, I watched for the arrival of two incredibly unlucky Slytherins. Over the hours my annoyance had turned from impatient anger to icy fury. Superficially, I radiated a composed calm, with hands gracefully folded in my lap. Internally, my glacial feelings rivaled the dungeon's temperature.  
  
Finally two massive forms darkened the entrance. Spotting me, they lumbered forward, stopping as soon as they were in front of my sitting form. Heads slightly hung, they waited for me to talk first.  
  
"Do you know what time it is?" I asked with deceptive courtesy.  
  
Both nodded, not daring to speak.  
  
"And do you remember what time we agreed to meet?"  
  
Again, they nodded mutely.  
  
Falling quiet, I allowed the silence to mingle with the room's cold, my motionless form not unlike a cobra about to strike.  
  
"Well, then," I said after they began to nervously shift. "What could have possibly happened to have kept me waiting here, alone, for six hours?"  
  
"We… we…" Gregory floundered.  
  
"That is to say," Vincent cut in. "We forgot."  
  
"You forgot," I repeated numbly. They both nodded, willing me to believe their excuse.  
  
"You forgot," I restated as a dull roar filled my ears at their obvious lie.  
  
"So, you simply forgot that we meet in the common room every trip to Hogsmeade." I began silkily. "You simply… forgot that we were to meet here, like we have for the past two years? You simply forgot."  
  
I looked them each in the eye, watching the doubt rise and worry start to set in. Standing, I forced them each to retreat a step.  
  
"You leave me, sitting here for hours, and the best excuse you can think of is that you merely forgot. Come now, Vincent, I'm surprised. With all the books you read, you couldn't think up a better lie?"  
  
"Draco, we…"  
  
"…Are lying to me. Yes, I think that's fairly apparent. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just go up to bed and have a talk with the wall. It, at least, seems to have better conversational skills then you two. Perhaps it'll even come up with a better lie, one that I might actually believe."  
  
Sweeping past them, my exit was cut short by a large hand on my shoulder. Glaring at it with an intent so cold it burned, Gregory quickly removed the offending hand.  
  
"Vinceandmearegoingout."  
  
"What?" I stared incredulously at him, not believing my ears.  
  
"Vince and me are going out." Gregory repeated, eyes studying the cement floor.  
  
" 'Vince and I,'" Vincent automatically corrected.  
  
Looking to Vincent, he confirmed what Gregory had said with a nod of his head. Sitting in the arm chair once again, I asked in pure shock, "For how long has this been going on?"  
  
"For six hours," replied Vincent with a tentative smile.  
  
"Oh," was my so-intelligent response.  
  
"We didn't mean to hurt you," Vincent continued, kneeling in front of me. "We honestly did forget to meet you today."  
  
"Oh," I stupidly replied, still flabbergasted.  
  
Vincent and Gregory exchanged a worried glance.  
  
"I'm sure you understand, Draco" Gregory stated softly. "You feel the same way about Weasley."  
  
"WHAT?!" I whispered, eyes widening in horror.  
  
"What I mean is, we've seen you watching him…"  
  
"I am not interested in Weasley." I quickly responded in a hushed tone, as the common room was slowly starting to fill with people. "It is merely a ruse, devised to aide Jaggers in a little… project."  
  
With a worried frown, Gregory cocked his head to one side, "Carlos Jaggers?"  
  
Raising one eyebrow, I sardonically drawled. "Do you know of any other Jaggers that attend Hogwarts?"  
  
"Be careful, he seems--" he began, but swiftly broke off with a blush, shaking his head.  
  
" How does he seem?" I pressed.  
  
"Dangerous." He whispered.  
  
A shiver licked my spine. Gregory, for all his oafishness, was in fact, an excellent judge of people's characters. Although he was mentally slow and embarrassed to say much of anything out loud, his quiet nature allowed him to observe others without too much notice. Vincent, in contrast, was quite bookish, and, once in the confines of the dungeons, often spouted quotes from those he had read, Muggle and Wizard alike. In public they may seem similar, both using their physical size to their advantages, but privately they were as different as spring and fall.  
  
"I KNOW YOU HAVE IT!" An accusatory boom broke through my musings, all in the common room ceased what they were formerly doing to catch a glimpse of what was occurring by the fireplace. Two first years I recognized as Lauren McCartney and Nikki Ballinger cowered from the seventh year spitting in rage.  
  
"Jagg…Jaggers. We told you," ventured the braver of the two in a timid murmur. "We haven't seen your ring."  
  
"Oh, really?" Carlos asked in a civil tone, a disconcerting twist from his previous yelling.  
  
Lauren and Nikki anxiously nodded.  
  
Carlos grabbed Lauren by the collar of her robe. "THEN WHY WERE YOU LOOKING AT ME DURING SUPPER?!"  
  
Nikki stood paralyzed by her uprooted friend, staring at Carlos with the look of one facing the devil himself.  
  
"Oya, Guapo!" Broke a female voice from across the room.  
  
Turning, I recognized Lillith Fairfield, sixth year, confidently striding toward the tableau at the fireplace.  
  
"I believe," she smoothly stated, voice lilting with her Hispanic heritage. "This is yours." The ring she held up was a polished silver.  
  
Wordlessly, he released Lauren, seized the ring and strode to his dorm. At the sound of a door slamming violently, the tension in the room released almost tangibly. With a look of awe, Lauren breathlessly asked Lillith, "How did you know it was his ring?"  
  
"Simple," she responded with a slight smile. "It had his surname engraved on it, and he's the only Jaggers in Hogwarts."  
  
Taking that as some sort of signal, everyone resumed their previous pursuits. With a solemn look, Gregory faced me once again.  
  
"See? I told you he was crazy."  
  
"Greg's right. The less amount of time spent around Jaggers, the better. How much longer is this feigned attraction to Weasley going to continue?"  
  
"I have to make him fall in love with me by winter recess."  
  
Vincent frowned in concern. "That's in two weeks. Are you certain you will accomplish all that in so short a span of time?"  
  
"I'm positive."  
  
"When did this thing start?" Gregory asked intently.  
  
"My pursuit of Weasely began Wednesday."  
  
Vincent and Gregory exchanged identical triumphant grins.  
  
"Dare I ask what you're smiling about?" I queried, looking from one to the other.  
  
Turning his grin on me, Gregory smugly replied. "You've been watching Weasley since October."  
  
Standing abruptly, I curtly bade them good evening, and retreated toward our dorm room. As I walked away, Vincent's mischievous voice softly followed. " 'He's in love, and he's not the only one, Who'll be changed.'"  
  
Just as I put my hand to the frigid doorknob, a familiar bass sounded from the shadows. "Are you falling for him?"  
  
My heart leaped, panic slamming into my chest, yet my expression didn't change as I faced the man in the shadows. "Vincent and Gregory were mistaken." Opening the door, I attempted a quick exit.  
  
A large hand slammed the door shut. Trying to turn away from the ominous figure, I found Carlos's other hand in my way. With his hands on either side of my body, he effectively blocked any escape.  
  
"For your sake, they had better be." His breath burned the tender skin of my neck as he leaned closer to lick my flesh. "I wouldn't like to think the heart you declare to not have is actually bestowed elsewhere."  
  
Twisting to look into his face, I felt the familiar hollowness fill my eyes, stamping out any emotions I had mere minutes ago.  
  
"I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere. I have never had any such thing."  
  
"Good," he breathed as his teeth captured my bottom lip.  
  
"Stay with me tonight." His demand left no room for opposition.  
  
Wordlessly, I nodded, following him to his familiar bed. 


	6. The Race

Author's Note: Due to the stupidity of this author, a section was left out of the previous chapter. This has been corrected. However, now I must ask you to read at least the end of "The Next Step" so you won't be confused with the content of all future chapters. Sorry for the mistake and thank you for your patience.  
  
Post Author's Note: Thank you so much to all my reviewers. It really makes my day when I find I have a new review.  
  
***  
  
Raising my arm to block the sun's unpretentious rays, I abruptly caught sight of the spec of Harry, speeding on his broomstick before performing a steep dive and recovering seconds before he hit the grey ground. The slight snow that had fallen yesterday had quickly transformed from a dainty sprinkling of white to a dirt-tainted sludge. The clouds did little to help the dismal setting, shrouding the sun in a forbidding casing so that a chance few beams could escape. As I watched Harry practice some of his more daring Quiddich moves, I thought of my conversation yesterday with Fred and George.  
  
"I like Harry." I had confessed without much preamble.  
  
"Well, sure, we like him, too. Why would that…"  
  
"No, I mean, I like him." I repeated, breathlessly waiting for their reaction.  
  
They exchanged identical glances before simultaneously cracking duplicate grins.  
  
"Way to go, Ron!" "Always knew you were on the queer side."  
  
Blushing madly, I continued. "Only thing is, I don't know if he's…well…."  
  
"Gay? Course he is." "No doubt about it."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"We can smell our own kind." Fred replied with a sideways smirk at George.  
  
Harry disappeared amidst a drab cloud. Scanning the sky, I saw him as he reappeared a few kilometers away.  
  
"I don't know. I mean, I can't just walk up to him and say 'Oy, Harry, I like you in a way that's not entirely brotherly. Fancy a snog?'"  
  
"Well, you could, but its not the most romantic way to go about it."  
  
"Then what should I do?"  
  
"Just give it time. If you, subtly, make it known your attracted to him, it won't be so big a shock when you tell him."  
  
"And just when do you propose I tell him?"  
  
"Is he staying here for Christmas?"  
  
"Of course he is. Its not like those Muggles of his are going to welcome him with open arms."  
  
"Tell him over the break, when its just the two of you."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Believe me," George said, smiling warmly at Fred. "Christmas is the best time to start a relationship."  
  
A large bead of cold splattered my nose. As if that were some secret signal, I was suddenly bombarded by legions of equally frigid drops. Guarding my eyes, I spotted Harry landing a few meters away. Once he reached my side, we scrambled through the sludge, dodging the ice rain as best we could. At one particularly icy patch, Harry's foot slid, nearly knocking him over. Without a thought, I grabbed his hand and together we hastened toward the school, fingers entwined. When finally we were under a protective alcove, we struggled to catch our breaths: he leaning heavily against the granite wall and I with my hands on my knees, hunched over. As our breathing became less erratic, I noticed I still clutched his hand in mine. My heart started pounding with renewed vigor when I realized that, by still holding his hand, that placed it, rather excitingly, on my thigh. Slowly straightening, my eyes traveled up his arm, to his slightly flushed cheeks, fogged glasses, and questioning eyes. Before my mind had time to process the movement, I was leaning closer to his mouth. His eyes flashed a jolt of fear and I was jarred back to the reality of the moment. I am Ronald Weasley. And Harry Potter has no idea you're lusting after him. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and looked away.  
  
"Race you to the common room." He softly challenged.  
  
A relieved smile skirted my face as I declared "You're on."  
  
The moment the words left my mouth, he sped away, the sound of his laughter left in his wake. Before I could make a move to catch up, a large hand clamped my shoulder. Turning, I found Crabbe and Goyle, a strange look adorning their faces. A look that was almost… friendly?  
  
"What do you two want?"  
  
"We have a message for you. Draco says you're to meet him tonight. Same time, same place as Wednesday." Recited Goyle, a mysteriously triumphant grin cracking his face. Perhaps the grin is because he actually remembered something, I mused cynically. However, before I could comment, they were gone, as if swallowed by the shadows. Is that some sort of patented Slytherin trick, I wondered as I recalled how easily Malfoy had slid into the darkness after our first… meeting.  
  
Jogging to the common room, cautiously so as not to slip on the stone floor, I began to recall that night at Hagrid's hut anew. Really, I do wish Hagrid would come back from visiting Madam Maxime, if only so Malfoy didn't have a conveniently abandoned place for us to meet. Then again, knowing Malfoy, he would probably find someplace else to congregate, like the astronomy tower. Snorting at the thought of anyone as creative as Malfoy using something as cliché as the astronomy tower for a secret rendezvous, I muttered the newest password (snawzberry) to the Fat Lady, and climbed into the common room. Determined to enjoy my time with Harry, I resolutely went to get into dry clothes, pushing Malfoy as far from my thoughts as possible.  
  
The rest of the day passed quickly. Harry and I played chess (which I won, spectacularly, several times)and joked around. When he performed certain mannerisms, like pushing his untidy hair out of his eyes, I struggled not to show any sign of how much it made my heart throb. How much my fingers ached to run through those raven strands. We were in the middle of our twelfth match of the day when the somber toll of the common room's grandfather clock indicated it was time for supper. Reluctantly, we put away the protesting chess pieces and made our way down to the Great Hall.  
  
Taking my usual seat at Harry's side, I glanced over to the Slytherin table only to find Malfoy's regular seat occupied by an abnormal seventh year with black hair. Our eyes met long enough for my brain to register the fact that, even from a distance, they were an absurdly pale color. The open hostility he regarded me with was so complete, I looked away in immense discomfort.  
  
"I learned the most fascinating thing about peasleybells while I was in the library today."  
  
Turning to Hermione, I feigned interest as she continued talking, shoveling tasteless food into my mouth as quickly as possible as if, by doing so, I could make the time pass faster.  
  
***  
  
  
  
"You weren't at supper."  
  
"How very observant, Weasley," I sarcastically drawled, turning from my earlier perusal of the window to face him in the candle's flickering light. The cold air had lightly stung his cheeks and nose, a red sheen glossing his ordinarily pale, freckled face. I let my eyes drink of his crimson hair and attractive appearance, before settling on those emerald eyes. A brief stirring of warmth was quickly smothered by my renewed resolve. I would not let him affect anything in me. I would perform my duty and walk away, untouched.  
  
As if to prove this to myself, I glided to him, following until I had backed him into a wall, and systematically attacked his mouth with my own. When I tasted his resistance, I shifted my head to a better angle and continued until his tongue began to timidly return my caresses. Satisfied that I felt no rising feelings attempting to melt the ice of my heart, I abruptly pulled away. Draping myself into a crude, wooden chair, I watched as he struggled to gain control of his conflicting emotions. I waited until his eyes lifted to my own before speaking.  
  
"I must apologize for neglecting you these past few days."  
  
"Believe me, its no problem," he interrupted, straightening his shoulders boldly. "In fact, you can 'neglect' me as much…"  
  
With a frosty glare, his cheeky response was cut short.  
  
"You will meet me here every night directly after supper."  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"Or I will focus my amorous attentions on Potter. I must say, your attraction to him has made me notice how delightfully sweet his lips are. He probably wouldn't be too adverse to me tasting…"  
  
"Leave Harry alone," he growled, fists clenching at his sides.  
  
With a feline smile, I practically purred my response. "As long as you keep me entertained, I shall have no use for your Golden Boy."  
  
The silence which met my statement was palpable. I could practically hear his mind screaming for some other option.  
  
"Fine," he hoarsely whispered.  
  
"Fine, what?"  
  
"I'll meet you here," defeated, his gaze fell to the ground.  
  
"Excellent," I replied. "Now come and seal our agreement with a kiss."  
  
Grudgingly, he knelt in front of my chair and hastily brushed his mouth against mine. Before he could pull away, I fisted my hand into his hair and painfully forced him to meet my eyes.  
  
"That was rather pathetic." Roughly, I released his hair. "However, I shall let you plead ignorance and allow it to pass. I suppose it is my duty to further your education in such matters. Now, go."  
  
Gratefully, he leapt to his feet and sped out of the hut. Sitting a while longer, I examined my heart for any unwanted emotions. Finding none, I slowly made my way back to the dungeons.  
  
Upon entering the common room, I found it to be empty save Carlos Jaggers, sitting in my armchair. Lazily beckoning with one hand, he indicated for me to approach. Wordlessly I obeyed, allowing him to settle me into his lap. His hands fumbled at the fastenings on my robe as his mouth slurped at my neck. Unmoving, I felt a hollow blackness fill my heart, eyes staring into the dark, as his fingers continued to stroke bared flesh. I let him do with my body as he wished and felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. 


	7. The Prey II

As he entered the room, I screwed my eyes tightly shut, a dazzling array of colors danced across my eyelids. Rocking myself I whispered prayers to any deity that might listen to fly me from this hell. I could smell his sweat and heat as he languidly leaned over my huddled form. My murmurs grew swiftly, nonsensical words falling from my lips at as rapid a rate as I now was rocking. Merciless fingers dove into my hair, painfully pulling me to my feet. My eyelashes fluttered open, tears protectively springing forth, as I looked into eyes so like my own.  
  
"I will make you worthy of the family name."  
  
The acidic stench of his words burned an oozing trail down my wounded throat. Wrenching my head back into a sharp and painful angle, he exposed the tender flesh of my neck. At a leisurely pace, he lowered his lips into the hollow of my throat, feeling, for a minute, my heartbeat flutter with fear. As if satisfied with my panic, he abruptly slammed my head into the wall once, twice, three times. Bright bursts of white sliced my vision before gradually seeping to blackness as I sank, boneless, to the bloodstained floor. 


	8. The Diversion

The sun glistened off the lake's crystalline surface, playing lightly across Harry's upturned face. The summer air emboldening my actions, stirring me into confidently capturing his soft lips. His reaction was instantaneous; arms wrapping securely around my neck, stretching his short body as far as he could. My hands wandered lazily through his messy hair, down the smooth column of his neck, along the ridge of his spine, and back up again. After a few poignant moments, our mouths parted, my eyes still closed as I savored the taste of him still on my tongue. His fingers brushed soothing circuits upon my forearm. When I opened my eyes, it was to look into tender, silver eyes with wisps of yellow hair delicately framing his pale forehead.  
  
"Draco," I breathed in wonder. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Kissing you, love," he gently replied, eyes shining in silent laughter.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"I… Wanna rock you steady baby!  
  
Come on now, lets go crazy  
  
You know the time is right  
  
So lets get funky tonight!"  
  
His voice had swiftly transformed from its usual aristocratic suave to a boisterous Irish brogue, singing off key and obnoxiously. Startled, I jolted from my dream to find Seamus jumping from bed to bed, endeavoring to wake the dorm with his jovial attics. He was the epitome of a morning person and flaunted this trait as much as humanly possible. To my horror, he leaped on to my bed, continuing his sour singing, unaware of the other boys as they stealthily crept up behind him. With a signal from Dean, we pelted him with pillows until he collapsed into a cackling heap at the foot of my bed.  
  
When our laughter finally subsided, Harry asked in a voice still breathless, "Where do you find such God- awful music?"  
  
"Its an American Muggle group, called Dreamstreet. Bloody brilliant if you ask me!"  
  
"Well we didn't, you git!" I teased, playfully smacking his head with a stray pillow.  
  
By the time I had readied myself for a day of classes, everyone was just returning from the showers. Turning to ask Harry a question, I caught a glimpse of his nude backside. My lungs dispelled all oxygen as my heart slammed painfully in my chest, stopping for a moment, only to resume beating at an accelerated pace. Mumbling that I would meet him in the common room, I hastily departed, stumbling down the stairs and settling myself, dumbly, on a scarlet couch. With visions of a certain Gryffindor in the full monty dancing across my vision, I scarcely noticed Hermione settling next to me until she began to speak.  
  
"What was that noise coming from your room this morning? It sounded like someone was in pain."  
  
"Naw, just Seamus serenading us."  
  
"Well, I was close," she saucily retorted. I snorted in amusement. A silence overtook our conversation as we watched sixth year Hill Stanton, crouched by the fireplace, idly extinguishing and igniting a fire with graceful flicks of his wand.  
  
"You know my uncle is gay," Hermione stated unexpectedly. With a puzzled expression, I glanced over to see her still watching Hill.  
  
"Um… Okay…." I replied, not understanding where the conversation was going, but certain I wasn't going to enjoy it.  
  
"Just thought you should know that I don't have any problems with homosexuality. In case you need someone to talk to or anything like that." At the last, she glanced at me, knowingly. Speechless, I gaped at her, struggling to find something to say. Fortunately, I was saved from responding by the arrival of Harry. Without any further said on the subject, we made our way to breakfast.  
  
***  
  
Half sprawled across one of the wooden tabletops in Potions class, I glared daggers at the unaware Vincent and Gregory who sat sharing a desk. They had sat next to one another in every previous class, leaving me alone to partner with any courageous enough to brave my disagreeable temperament. However, that's hardly my fault as I had gotten only a scant few hours sleep and, when true morning did arise, I found myself waking to Vincent and Gregory's sickening rendition of cooing pillow talk. Certainly not a great way to begin any day, least of all a Monday.  
  
When someone settled into the chair next to mine, I glanced up uninterestedly, only to find it was none other than one Ronald Weasely. A sly smirk touched my lips as I straightened in my seat. Before I could say anything, he hastily mumbled, never taking his eyes from the desk Granger and Potter shared, "There aren't anymore seats."  
  
I was unable to respond as Professor Snape had just entered the room, robes billowing dramatically behind him, as he swiftly brought the class to focus, beginning a complex lecture on the potion we were to brew. Initially, I attempted to pay attention, however my lack of sleep from the previous night took its toll; befuddling my thoughts and slurring my concentration. My mind wandered aimlessly from thoughts of the preceding week to wonderings of how my hair might look dyed cobalt. Or perhaps black with slight streaks of sapphire. Alas, there is no way I might experiment with either possibility as both my father and Carlos would have some…choice words to say. My musings continued until I was jarred to alacrity by a pair of emerald eyes looking at me quizzically. Realizing Weasely had just asked me a question, I asked him to repeat himself.  
  
"Do you want to cut the ingredients or stir the potion?"  
  
Shaking my head, I said with a light smile, "You'll have to do both as I wasn't paying the least bit of attention."  
  
With a muttered string of curses, he set to work, assiduously slicing an Adder's Fork. Sitting back, I looked around the room, observing each pair of students as they diligently began their potions. When my eyes settled on Gregory and Vincent anew, I realized Vincent had one discreet hand on Gregory's thigh as they worked. At the sight, a impish idea began to take form in my mind. I looked, calculating, at Weasely as he held a beaker of a violet liquid to the light before pouring it, cautiously, into his cauldron. Deciding this was, quite possibly, my only form of entertainment for this class, I set my plan into motion.  
  
Fixing my gaze at a point in the front of the room, I casually placed my hand on Weasley's knee. With a surprised gasp, I saw him snap his wide- eyed bewilderment to me out of the corner of my eye. Keeping my vision forward, I traced patterns on his leg, delicately at first, then gradually firmer, while keeping a façade of pure listlessness. I could almost hear his thoughts as he went from bafflement to indignant fuming, until finally he attempted to match my nonchalant attitude.  
  
His hands shaking slightly, he scrapped the final ingredients into the cauldron. Eyes narrowing at his endeavor of levity, I brought my hand brazenly betwixt his thighs. I could practically taste the increased heat rolling from his pores as he dipped a silver ladle into the thick mauve sludge. When I languidly slide my hands more intimately up his thigh to more personal areas, he resolutely began to stir the potion, the only indication of out interchange was the pink hues tingeing his ears. Creeping my hand further up, he stirred the potion with renewed vigor until, without warning, the potion let out a shrill keening sound and detonated, liquid leaping, staining his robes and hands. Snickering, I drew my hand away as Snape appeared at our desk, berating Weasley and deducting points for failing to stir the potion counterclockwise. When Snape ceased his reprimands, moving on to bark at Longbottom for botching yet another concoction, I was unable to resist adding insult to his already injured pride.  
  
Leaning in to Weasley's ear so only he would hear my silky murmur, I whispered seductively. "I knew I could make you explode."  
  
Instantaneously a rush of scarlet leaped to his face as he buried his burning cheeks in his arms. 


	9. The New Tactic

"—no right to do that! No right at all! Bad enough that little stunt lost me points, but to humiliate me like that in front of…I've never been so embarrassed in my life!" I ranted, simultaneously pacing the small space of Hagrid's hut and raving at Malfoy.  
  
"Oh, come now." Malfoy drawled in return, watching my paltry progress across the floor, a slight smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. "I'm positive you've been more embarrassed than that- you blush all the time."  
  
As if on cue, I felt my cheeks burning from his comment. "Shut up." I growled, looking away from the elegant picture he made, lounging in a rustic, wooden chair, as if posing for a spread in Witch Weekly. The nerve of him, looking so placid while I flustered about like a dolt.  
  
"Your just petulant because you know you enjoyed it."  
  
I stopped dead in my tracks, stilling as his words hit me. Turning to him in stupefaction, I stared, murmuring. "What?"  
  
"I said," he replied completely unruffled, hands folding neatly in his lap. "You enjoyed my hand on your thigh."  
  
My jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of his statement before my rage flared, temper making my jaw snap shut and moving me with deadly purpose. In two large steps I was in front of Malfoy, shoving his chair out from under him. One moment, he sat the very model of composure, the next he was hurtling through the air, crashing into the grey stone wall. I saw him blink sluggishly, disoriented from his head's impact with the unyielding surface, and even that didn't bring me any satisfaction. I stood their, fists clenched at my sides, lungs erratically heaving my chest as adrenaline burned my veins, watching as he gingerly sat up, leaning heavily against the wall. Disgusted with both what he had said and my violent reaction, I turned to march back to the school when his voice fell like frigid rain, instantly cooling my furor.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"Away," I replied, irritable.  
  
"I think not. We have an agreement, now come here."  
  
Turning back to face him, I noticed a stain of blood running from the corner of his mouth. As opposed to looking fragile, crumpled on the floor and bleeding, he looked like a feral feline with the juices of his victim coursing down his chin. Obediently trudging to him, I took his hand when he offered it, preparing to pull him upright. Instead, I found myself yanked to the floor, falling directly into his lap as if neatly choreographed. Instantly stiffening, I whispered raggedly, "What do you think you're doing."  
  
"Holding you," he breathed into my ear. "I thought that was obvious."  
  
"Please," I pleaded. "Let me go."  
  
"No." He replied, his fine voice a hiss.  
  
He then wrapped his arms around my chest, drawing me even closer into his embrace. I remained rigid, infinitely uncomfortable, certain he would soon begin to touch me in some perverse fashion, but his hands remained chastely motionless. Minutes dragged idly by and the world seemed quiet as sin, the only sounds our combined breathing and hearts beating. The constant pulse of his chest soon became soothing as I found myself cautiously relaxing into the enclosure his body provided. As cold and heartless as he normally behaved, it was almost something of a shock to feel such tangible evidence of his mortality, his human frailty. It was as if, in the irrational portion of my unconscious, I expected him to be carved from crystallized water.  
  
I felt the soft flesh of his lips tentatively touching the shell of my unprotected ear. I should have been repulsed, revolted, indignant. I should have broken away from his grasp, fleeing this place, damn the consequences. Yet, the only movement I made was to tip my head, allowing him access to my vulnerable neck. Emboldened by my acceptance, he trailed his lips down to my offering, tenderly caressing my exposed skin. Lulled by talented lips and tongue, I closed my eyes, losing myself for centuries in pure sensation.  
  
After what seemed no time at all, and was probably in truth half an hour, his lips ceased their tender exploration. Surprised and dismayed, I slowly opened my eyes, lashes fluttering slothfully until I came back to myself. It was then the euphoria faded to be replaced by unease as I admitted to myself I was unsure of this potent and accurate new tactic of his. 


	10. The Bluff

The days passed, as days are wont to do; morning fusing with noon, soon giving way to dusk. Nothing remarkable occurring during the duration of the standard days. Like every day for the past five years I woke with my fellow Slytherins, actually becoming aware of the world over a breakfast I couldn't have recalled later for the life of me, broke the monotony of classes by contemptuously addressing some student from another House, ate dinner with Vincent and Gregory by my side, and endured Carlos's attentions as twilight seeped into the sky. However, now the nights contained more for me then contemplation by the fireplace or in Carlo's bed. Under the cover of evening, I was able to make my way to the hut of the oaf in which the entertainment would adhere to the regimental verbal sparring giving way to burning, painful kisses, later soothed by a refreshing bout of holding my spit-fire redhead. In the lethargic tone of the latter activity, Weasely developed the habit of talking as I aimlessly traced circuits upon his arms and chest. At first, his chatter would consist of events which had occurred during the course of the day. Then, his prattle would lead to candid, soul bearing musings. It was as if, in the still of night, he would momentarily forget we were enemies whose very surname demanded mutual hatred. Here, in the ethereal ambiguity of those few moments, we were merely two survivors of a harsh reality, taking comfort in the solidity of one another.  
  
However, no matter how lovely and tempting an illusion, I could never permit my senses to abandon as completely as he. I could never loose sight of the severe reality lurking behind the shadows and moonbeams. Thus, I maintained my façade in the guise of silence; steadfastly refusing to answer any question he might ask of me. Tonight was no different, though the topic was. Usually he would attempt to learn more of my life, family, friends, that sort of thing, however I maintained my stoic reticence. This night, he was intent upon discovering the cause of the newly formed gash running across my cheek. He pressed so adamantly, I finally left him there, still sitting on the chilled floor.  
  
Instead of immediately returning to the school, as I should have done, I took advantage of the shielding the shadows offered, leaning warily against a large tree, looking out to the moonlit waters of the lake. Touching a fingertip to my cut still tacky with blood, I dipped into the grim recesses of memory from mere hours ago.  
  
"I want you to hurt him tomorrow. When we go to Hogsmeade is the perfect opportunity."  
  
"No, its far too soon, its been little more than a week. You must give it more time. He's already starting to open—"  
  
"I WANT YOU TO BREAK HIS HEART AND I WANT IT TO BE TOMORROW! I WANT TO WATCH WHEN HE KILLS HIMSELF FROM GRIEF!"  
  
"I still maintain driving him to kill himself is a little unrealistic and extreme—"  
  
Pain exploded as he savagely backhanded me, stifling my objections, an unyielding surface tearing along my flesh in the process. When my vision cleared, I saw him regarding his blood stained ring in amazement. Cautiously bringing it to his lips, he flicked his tongue, cleaning it in a serpentine manner. Once it was clean, he brought his eyes to my face, tipping my chin back to get a better look at the damage he had inflicted. Leaning closer, he licked my wound much as had his ring, cleansing it of blood. When he was finished, he mused detachedly.  
  
"Poor broken dragon, his perfection now marred." Releasing his grip on my face, his manner was now all business, as if he had never struck me. "Very well, we will give it one more week. But after that, you will hurt him."  
  
The cool slide of bare arms embracing me from behind brought me from my reverie. Standing at his full height, Weasely was able to tuck my head below his chin, his stance both protective and comforting. I could not stifle the cold wind sweeping through my hollow breast. I felt a feathery kiss brush my hair, followed by the weight of his cheek, before he began to speak, his voice a whisper, as if afraid to break the utter stillness of the dark.  
  
"I'm sorry. I know you don't like it when I pry, I just wanted to know what happened."  
  
"Be that as it may, you must believe me when I tell you I am heartless."  
  
"No, that's not true…"  
  
"Weasley..." The sound was like a growl, rumbling my annoyance.  
  
"Ron. When we're out here at night, call me Ron."  
  
"Ron. I will only lead you to sorrow."  
  
"No, you won't. I don't know what exactly I feel for you, but I know I feel something. And I would have to be mad not to know you feel even a slight something back. All I know is you aren't the cold, jaded thing you make yourself out to be."  
  
"If only you knew."  
  
My voice was a faint whisper before I resolutely broke away from his embrace and walked resolutely back to the school. 


	11. The Possession

I was confused, to say the least. For five years I've hated Malfoy, every insensitive taunt and arrogant gesture. And now in just two weeks, I've begun to feel… something else. I know it can't be love or anything like that. I love Harry, I think about him and immediately the image that flickers across my mind's eyes is of his face, passive in angelic sleep, hair lightly brushing his eyelids. What I feel for Malfoy is completely different. I think of him and I feel this burning in my chest; a conflagration of lust, violence, exasperation, and even a touch of, dare I think it?, fondness. Instead of a single frozen moment, when I think of him its like a hail of images bash my senses. I see him, kneeling between my wantonly parted thighs, his wicked smirk when he knows he has uttered one insult too many, the triumphant glint his eyes posses when he feels my physical response to his rough possession of my flesh. Most remarkable, perhaps, is the way my eyes burn unexpectedly at the ambivalent expression on his face when we come face to face in the harsh light of day. Its at times like those I am reminded that this is all a game, a sad farce in which I have made an utter ass of myself by believing so gullibly. Its at times like those I resolve once again not to fall prey to his seductions.  
  
Then he pulls me into his embrace and does that simple service which not even Harry, in all our years of friendship, has ever provided. He listens to me. While he runs his fingers through hideous red hair and nuzzles an atrociously speckled neck, he provides an environment so reassuring I feel as if I cannot help but unburden my mind to his attentive ear. It seems odd he chose me of all people on whom to bestow his physical affection. I mean, I have eyes, I have seen the specter which peers back from the harsh mirror and thusly have no delusions I might be considered mildly attractive to either Malfoy nor Harry. Yet, despite this, it is I whom he kisses nightly. My unattractive form he finds pleasure in laving with tongue and touch. And I cannot help but be both flattered and intrigued.  
  
I know I have neither George's charm, Fred's humor, nor Percy's achievements, but, nightly in the arms of Draco Malfoy, I feel as if I have that which I never before possessed.  
  
Worth.  
  
  
  
***  
  
When will he cease his worthless babbling? The question reverberated through my mind as I watched Carlos cloth himself at the foot of his bed, his mouth never ceasing its insufferable movement, although I had long since tuned out. Sprawled naked atop the sheets, I employed a skill I had long ago mastered: the art of feigning attentiveness. So certain was I of my ability to appear interested, I allowed my mind to wander through many topics before settling on that which most occupied my thoughts as of late. Ron Weasley. The image which was immediately conjured in my mind's eye threatened to spill my lips into a fond expression, however I stifled the urge before it made itself present.  
  
"Are you even listening?"  
  
"Of course I am," I dutifully responded.  
  
"Of course you are," he parroted. "You always listen. Then, perhaps, you will agree with my last statement."  
  
"Certainly." I promptly said, figuring I had a fifty percent chance of being correct.  
  
At my assent, Carlos waved his wand over his knuckle, muttering some charm that didn't quite reach my ear. Stalking to my reclining side, he raked his eyes across my body in a distinctly predatorial manner. Lingering at my eyes, I only had a moment to realize his own had taken that sickly yellow shade they turn prior to doing something particularly violent, before he was holding me down, his accursed family ring brutally digging into my hip. What started as an uncomfortable warmth swiftly sifted into a scalding heat. As he held it there for several minutes, I resolutely stared at the draping above the bed, my clenched jaw and fists the only reaction to the searing pain.  
  
When finally he let me go he brushed a swift kiss across my forehead before saying "I'm so glad you agreed to take on my mark." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving me to my suffering. As my mind gradually accepted the pain, I gingerly maneuvered my body until I could better examine the wound. There, marring the pale flesh of my right hip, the white beginnings of a blister was swiftly rising from amidst the redness of abused skin. An elaborate "J" glared tauntingly, daring me to disprove its existence, labeling me as if I were some type of livestock.  
  
My mind screamed as my heart resignedly accepted I now had tangible evidence I was property of Carlos Jaggers.  
  
  
  
***  
  
A.N.- I would like to apologize to all my readers for my tardiness in this latest installment. I have had a lot on my mind, including a lengthy debate on whether I should discontinue the writing of this story. After a particularly in depth conversation with my latest muse (that freakin genius) I resolved to finish my story. I'm sure most of you are glad by that decision, lol. Yes, I intend to complete my story, never you fear, gentle readers. The next chapters should come out swifter then its predecessor. Also, I would again like to thank all who reviewed this story. Whenever I read a review, it inspires me to continue writing, no matter how hard a literary predicament I am in…hint hint. ;-) 


	12. The Calculation

Upon entering the Great Hall I was at once struck with two observations. The first being the atmosphere was one of incredible joviality as it was the day before all bound for home over the Christmas vacation were to leave. Voices were animated as each expressed immense relief at the interval away from schoolwork and time closer to obtaining that particular gift each expected from a family member. The second was that the abnormal seventh year was again sitting in Malfoy's seat. This time, determined to discover the mysterious boy's identity, I turned to Fred, who had accompanied me to breakfast, and questioned whether he knew.  
  
"Which one?"  
  
When he followed the direction of my pointed finger, I saw his eyes darken angrily, jaw uncharacteristically clenching.  
  
"Carlos Jaggers." He ground out, the name spitting from his lips as if it were the most nauseating of potions.  
  
"I take it you know him…" I prompted, eager to know who it was that put such loathing in my usually good-natured brother.  
  
"Unfortunately. He's the bloke George was dating last year."  
  
"What did he do?"  
  
"I can't tell you that, promised George I wouldn't tell anyone." Suddenly worried, he glanced at me. "Why do you want to know? Did he do something to you?"  
  
"No, not at all," I quickly replied. "I was just… curious, that's all."  
  
"If he ever does, tell me and I'll… take care of it."  
  
"You act like he's dangerous."  
  
"He is."  
  
With that ominous remark, he sat in his usual seat and I followed suit. Although his warnings chilled me somewhat, I cleared my mind as I saw Hermione enter the Great Hall, followed by Harry. My heart began to thump wildly as I thought of how he and I were the only ones of our year in Gryffindor staying over the holiday. I was nervous and excited by turns as I thought of what might occur over the two weeks. Something must have shown on my face, for Hermione cast me an understanding grin as she approached my seat and took her own on Harry's opposite side. A telltale heat rushed to my ears, as I dropped my gaze until I felt myself better under control. When I looked up, it was to the sight of hundreds of owls baring the morning post. A barn owl was swooping down to drop off Hermione's Daily Prophet subscription before it was brought up short by a screech owl gripping a letter, barreling into the other owl's path. The screech owl barely paused in the act of depositing the letter in front of Harry before it was off again at break neck speed.  
  
Curiously, Harry opened his letter and read it through once before a beautifully delighted grin split his face and quickly read the letter again.  
  
"Who is it from?" Inquired Hermione.  
  
"Its from Remus! He says Snuffles is with him over the holidays and asks if I want to stay with them during the break!" I felt my heart leap into my throat at his words, but Hermione was already squealing, "Harry, that's wonderful!"  
  
"Yeah, Harry, that's… great."  
  
Harry paused in the act of reading his letter a third time when he heard my somewhat unconvincing words.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Er… nothing."  
  
"What is it?" He asked, this time looking at me intently.  
  
"Its nothing. I just thought we were going to… you know… spend the vacation here together, that's all. I mean, what with Hermione leaving…"  
  
"…You'll be alone!" He exclaimed distressed. "I guess I wasn't thinking right. Its just I've never had anywhere to go over the holidays, I forgot. I'll just write to Remus and tell him I can't spend it with…"  
  
As his words went on, I felt the singeing flames of guilt constrict my throat before I croaked "No, its fine! Really… I mean, you should definitely go. Spend time with your godfather and all."  
  
"You wouldn't mind?" He asked as hope rang through his voice.  
  
"Not at all. I mean, Fred and George'll be here and all, so I wont get lonely or anything. You should go."  
  
Excitement shone in his eyes at my words, clearly taking them for the blessing they were. As he and Hermione became engrossed in their plans for the afternoon at Hogsmeade, I couldn't help but get swept away in their enthusiasm, no matter how much my heart hurt.  
  
***  
  
The Three Broomsticks was filled with celebratory students and miscellaneous other patrons, each voice more boisterous then the last, the pub seemingly filled to the brink with every table taken. However, the blithe crowd did not seem to touch my own table as I sat, dignified, at Carlos's side, his hand on my thigh growing more bold with each sip of his Butterbeer. Unfortunately, Vincent and Gregory hadn't joined us as they were in the dorm spending "quality time" together. Thus it was Carlos and I, alone, despite the surrounding swell.  
  
The brand in my hip had long ceased causing physical pain in the few days that had passed. Instead, a sort of numbness surrounded the area as the nerve endings seemed to have been destroyed along with my free will. A glazed shock had transcended my mind with the tangible evidence of his ownership of my body. Indeed, it felt as though whatever pain he inflicted upon my person was of little consequence as I was now utterly his to do with as he pleased. And as of that moment, his pleasure seemed to be rubbing his hand over my robe-clad thigh. Resigning myself to a role of serving his hormone- ridden libido, I allowed him to maneuver me into his lap, his hands groping possessively. Under normal circumstances, I might have protested such a public display, but I just couldn't summon enough energy to do anything but endure.  
  
As I tilted my head to give Carlos better access to the throat he regularly and obsessively dominated, my eyes registered a bright tinge of brilliantly red hair in the booth next to ours. Looking down, I found my stare locked with another's; green irises burning with disgust. Sensing I had caught on to whom this performance was truly for, I felt a stale breath caress my ear.  
  
"I don't think I have to worry about Ron Weasley any further."  
  
With a chortle and a swipe of the tongue, he continued his amorous administrations, yet my gaze never wavered from verdant depths, derision all too visible. When I felt greedy teeth painfully clamp down on my naked neck, I summoned my ubiquitous indifference to fill my heart, soon leaking out of my very eyes. Once again I allowed myself to feel the sweet release of sheer ambivalence. 


	13. The Turnabout

Looking to the large clock in the Gryffindor common room, I realized it had been three minutes later then when previously I checked. Twenty-six hours and twenty-four minutes since Harry had left. Sighing, I collapsed into an obese couch, my arms and legs spreading every which way in my dejected state. I still can't believe he's not here. Days of planning, weeks of wanting, years of not knowing, all gone with a single owl. Damn, bloody owl.  
  
Breakfast this morning was an unusually quiet affair as there were only a handful of students spending their holiday here, much less then previous years. Unfortunately the one presence I could have done without sat across the room from me, alone, save one other Slytherin who I vaguely recognized as a seventh year. He looked pristine, beautiful. Of course, what else could I expect from such an angelic creature. The body of a cherub casing a heart of granite, not to mention the sexual prowess of a true whore. That's what he is, a whore. I shook my head in an attempt to displace the visuals that were intent upon invading my mind. The familiar heat of bile rose in my throat as I thought of how he looked, his eyes watching me as he was groped. Acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world, to be man handled in public like that, he watched me with eyes that coldly reminded me that he cared for no one but himself; ever the lone wolf.  
  
Yet not so alone anymore, I muse darkly, thinking of Carlos Jaggers claiming Draco's neck as though he had every right to it. And so he must, as they've obviously been together for quite a while. I bet Draco's been his even before he came to me that night two weeks ago. Jaggers probably stayed awake until Draco crept back into his dorm room, awaiting the newest details of what an utter ass I was. They would probably snicker at how easily I fell into his arms before succumbing to their own lusts. Images of the two of them locked in passion's embrace had my stomach churning. Shaking my head in an attempt to dispel the vulgar concept, I found my mind once more projecting the scene in the dark pub. Yet, instead of Jaggers claiming that pale neck, it was my own teeth I found nipping at Draco's smooth skin, my mouth dominating his body.  
  
Domination; that was the crux of this entire debacle, the reason why he pursued me so ardently. He wished to dominate me in the most complete and humiliating of ways. Possession was the name of the game we played, power the prize we sought. The prize I lost the instant I let him into my heart. Domination was the key to our bizarre partnership, the one skill I never brought to the contest. Until now. Cementing my resolution in place, I left the protected confines of the common room and began to search in earnest for Draco Malfoy.  
  
A few hours later I was still prowling the grounds for sign of my prey. Instead of cooling my purpose, the time seemed to propel my hunt. Walking down a particularly dank hallway of the dungeon, I was brought up short by a familiar figure. Although he was facing a tapestry, there was no way I could mistake him for anyone other than my quarry. Tenaciously, I stalked to his oblivious back, jerked him around bodily, and caught his mouth in a brutal kiss.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
My heart leapt into my throat as, for one horrible moment, I thought wildly Carlos had not left and was staying at Hogwarts for the two week vacation. Tearing my mouth away from its aggressor, I blindly punched the offending person in the gut, effectively driving away the threat of further violation. A moment went by as I watched the figure sprawled on the floor before a dawning recognition lit my mind. Weasley. It was just Weasley, and not Carlos at all. Relief cooled my worries as I distantly heard myself murmur something to the affect of "Oh, its you."  
  
"What the hell was that for?" Demanded a fuming Weasley, doubled over, futility grasping at his stomach.  
  
"I should think that would be obvious as you practically just assaulted me."  
  
"And I should think you would be used to it by now!"  
  
Blood rushed into my ears at his words, heart pounding dangerously. When I was certain I could speak without a tremor betraying my emotions, I asked in a voice dripping with venomous ice, "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that, as a whore, you must get used to enthusiastic customers!"  
  
Unable to believe the audacity of his words, I could do nothing but stare at him a moment before deliberately turning and walking to the sanctum of the Slytherin common room. 


	14. The Forfeit

"Weasley, It's over."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The game, its over."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I forfeit. Withdraw. Concede."  
  
"You mean I- I win?"  
  
"Yes. I will no longer seek you out. I will cease my advances on you. And you needn't worry over your precious Potter; he, too, will be safe from the evil Malfoy's wrath. Its all over. Congratulations."  
  
"But-"  
  
"But, what, Weasley ?"  
  
"Why? Why do you forfeit? Is it because of what I said? I mean, I didn't really, completely mean-"  
  
"No, actually you were quite accurate in your conclusion of me. I am a whore. Now, if you will excuse me-"  
  
"No! I mean, I won, right? So what do I win?"  
  
"What do you want, Weasley?"  
  
"I want you to call me Ron."  
  
"If that's all-"  
  
"No! No I also want something else."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You. Your services."  
  
"I see." "You already admitted to being a whore. I don't think you would be completely adverse to the idea."  
  
"For how long?"  
  
"Until Harry comes back."  
  
"And I suppose you want me to dye my hair black and carve a scar into my forehead."  
  
"Nah. You're attractive enough the way you are."  
  
"I'm so very glad you think so, Weasley. Ron. I submit on one condition."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"That you give me no permanent marks."  
  
"No! I mean of course not, no."  
  
"Very well. And do you require any of my services now?"  
  
"Yes. Come and seal our agreement with a kiss." 


	15. The Author's Note

Alright, I know I have grossly neglected this fanfiction and all my readers(If I still have any out there) and I know this chapter is sorely disappointing what with its length or lack thereof and its lack of any type of description. Consider it an experiment in Hemingway. Truth be told, this chapter merely refused to unfold properly despite the many times I demanded it to do so. The only intelligible form it came out was in complete dialogue and I was so frustrated I lay this fic down to rest. However, it was resilient and refused to stay dormant for very long. Instead it rose from the ashes of my creativity (read: backpack) and commanded it be written, gurgling that a bizarre dialogue form was better then giving up on this story all together. Besides, it whispered, we have places yet to travel with these characters: their suffering is not yet complete. In conclusion, Gentle Reader, think of this not as a dissatisfying continuation but a simple transition for This Author to get to Her Ultimate Goal. Perhaps once this story is finished (And yes! Persevering Reader! have no fear on that issue; it will conclude!) I will go back to this chapter and write in proper descriptions. But for now just be assured in the knowledge that yes! I am back! And I fully intend to regularly continue with this not-so-deceased story.  
  
Thank you, as always, to all who reviewed. It was these comments which propelled me to type the dialogue I had written on a paper neglected to the sad, half-forgotten depths of my backpack. For this, I am grateful! 


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